Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Friday, January 13, 2012

The Party

I was laughing.
Someone set a black box in front of me on the bar;
His cigar set my hair on fire:
I'm a saint.
I'm the sun.
I'm a pilot light tucked in among these gas bags.

I was laughing.
Someone handed me a telegram;
Her fragrance took me back to simpler times:
Prison.
The hospital there.
The Western Union office in the basement of the violent ward.

I was laughing.
My life had been encoded on cards;
I slid them through a Gypsy's teeth and she bit me:
Bleed, girl.
Bleed hard.
That's the tarot she told me, and by the time she kissed me
I was crying.
____

11 comments:

  1. Now, you see, if I could just figure out how you rip these images out of the ether and pin them so nonchalantly to a line, I would be onto your secret!

    "I'm a pilot light tucked in among these gas bags."

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  2. I am sure at this moment I have no real words .. I am shivering .. 'Bleed, girl. Bleed hard.'

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  3. simpler times: prison....

    you make them words dance...rather surreal and with heat...maybe i am just weird...

    burn baby

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  4. Gah. This is a torrid tango with madness, love's and life's--that second stanza, where the poem first appears to be going in a tender direction, then twists in your hand and starts cutting, is so rich you welcome the sharp blade; the machine simile and the blood at the end, cleansing or binding, or simply bleeding out--lock the cellar door and turn out the light.Fine work here, Shay.

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  5. Wow, and Hedgewitch said it all. Fantastic writing, the edginess sharp enough it hurts the reader. You are powerful, girl.

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  6. Ah!
    I don't remember you interviewing me for stanza one!
    Classic Shay!

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  7. Shay, you are the Mistress of the Totally Unexpected!

    "Prison."

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  8. I wrote a letter to 'Poetry' magazine and told those highbrow ass-wipes that their hoity-toity, bullshit poetry sucks and that they're out of touch with real people who want real poetry (like yours here).

    Seriously, Shay. You should have an entire library of your poems published and in my poetry collection.

    You seriously ROCKED this and kicked that fucking alphabet into total, spike-heeled wearing, begging-for-more SUBMISSION. The poet bitch in me bows with envy to the poet bitch in you. xoxo

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  9. Feels 'Cuckoo's Nest-like' and I love it!

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Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?